


Bright Beneath the Haze

by obsidienne



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, discussion of suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 12:29:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14164872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsidienne/pseuds/obsidienne
Summary: Wanting to help Thomas, Baxter summons Jimmy. Post-s6e8.





	Bright Beneath the Haze

Wishing he didn’t feel quite so disappointed that his temporary duties as Lord Merton’s butler are complete, Thomas hangs his jacket carefully on the peg near the door to the temporary bedroom where he’s been relegated. He was only meant to stay the week; until his lordship’s butler recovered from his illness.  A complete recovery, unfortunately for Thomas.

His future, as bleak as it was before he volunteered, seems even more hopeless now.

The family is leaving in the morning for their holidays, and he knows Carson is waiting just long enough to give the appearance of empathy before turning him out.

If Thomas had any self respect, he would leave first. Self-respect, however, is in short supply. Lost completely the moment he was fished from the bathtub and sentenced to recover in this dingy bedroom that should be housing hallboys.  

At least it was Phyllis who found him, and not Carson or Bates. Phyllis, who looks at him with constant worry in her eyes now. Even going so far as to suggest he write to Jimmy. _Jimmy_ , of all people.

Thomas writes to Jimmy often–too often. But only ever to share gossip and to ask after him. He’s kept every one of Jimmy’s infrequent replies, satisfied, at least that he seems content with his life; if not yet the wealthy world traveller he once yearned to be.

His last post found him working at a pub in London, a new note of underlying happiness to his words. Thomas has no wish to disturb that.

There’s a knock on the door, and Thomas bows his head, having no desire to know who is on the other side. It could well be Carson, coming to point out that if he’s well enough to serve Lord Merton’s every whim, he is well enough to be on his way.

To stop being a burden on the house which has showed him such generosity.

Thomas can’t deny he would have a point.

Out of spite, as old a friend as any, Thomas leaves his jacket where it’s hung and opens the door.  He’s surprised to find Phyllis standing in the darkened corridor. She is smiling, the worry completely whisked away.  

“Miss Baxter,” he greets her with a small smile, enough to assure he that he is well. “To what…” The words drop away as Jimmy steps beside her.  Thomas’ moves senselessly, only a faint, “ _Jimmy_ …” emerging.

He’s aware of Phyllis speaking, but he has no idea what she says.  Jimmy has his hat crushed between his hands, eyes wide and anxious.   

“Thomas,” he says, a whisper dragged from his throat. He blinks rapidly and reaches out to touch Thomas’ arm, to grip it painfully.

“Jimmy.” Thomas clears his throat, flinches as the grip tightens.  Jimmy swallows, twin spots of colour brightening his cheeks before he lets Thomas go.  

“May I come in?” he asks, still warbled and Thomas nods dumbly.  He opens the door wider and Jimmy steps in.  It takes a further moment to think of closing it again, but Phyllis has already done it. He can hear her footsteps as they retreat down the corridor.

Jimmy is still staring at him.  Thomas attempts to cobble over his shock, but Jimmy speaks before he can, “You’re all right,” he says quietly, gaze intense, hat still crumpled in white knuckled fists. “Miss Baxter told me… She told me that you tried to…” He swallows convulsively. “I didn’t know, Thomas. You never said, not in your letters…”

“There was nothing to tell,” Thomas says, the learned skill of retreat coming naturally, dusting over his surprise. The urge to protect Jimmy just as strong as it always was.  “I’m fine.”

Jimmy nods jerkily, twists his hat tighter.  “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

“You weren’t to know,” Thomas tells him.

“You won’t…” Jimmy’s eyes flick to his wrists and Thomas’ has to ignore the urge to tug his cuff down. There’s nothing to hide. It’s why Jimmy’s come, after all.

“I won’t,” Thomas agrees flatly, the same words extracted by Phyllis.  He wonders if it sounded so hollow when he said them to her.  Jimmy looks at his face again, studying him with haunted eyes.

“I don’t think I could bear it,” he says quietly.  “I couldn’t.”

Thomas’ chest feels tight, the words painful in an entirely new way. They shouldn’t be. Jimmy can’t know they’re like knives, twisting tight in his ribcage. Phyllis said similar words, and they didn’t hurt.  It isn’t Jimmy’s fault he can’t love Thomas in the way he wants.    

“I told you, Jimmy,” he says, smiling with an effort. “I’m fine. Miss Baxter shouldn’t have bothered you with it.”  

“She thought it might help if I wrote to you,” Jimmy tries to explain. “She was surprised to find me downstairs.” He smiles a little, but it’s a morose expression, devoid of any real happiness. “If I had come sooner…”

“I don’t want your pity.” It comes out sharper than he intends.

“It isn’t pity,” Jimmy says, finally releasing his strangling hold on the hat and waving it in a frustrated arc. “I’m trying to tell you, Thomas, that I’m like you.”

All the air has gone out of the room. Thomas stares at Jimmy, trying to twist his words into sense.

Jimmy steps forward, reaching out as though he means to steady. He doesn’t touch him though.  His voice is soft and strained as he says, “I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t put it in a letter, not where someone might read it, and I didn’t know you were so unhappy. I didn’t know if you still…”

The words make no sense. It’s too unlike the Jimmy he remembers. Jimmy his friend, not Jimmy his would-be lover.

He doesn’t know how to proceed, doesn’t want to do anything that might frighten him away.  Not that Jimmy looks particularly frightened, but Thomas wonders if he might go up in a puff of smoke at the slightest whisper.

He’s watching Thomas with a worried frown.

"Thomas?” His voice rises, questioning, and Thomas forces his muscles to relax. Even now, after all this time, a smile comes naturally; an attempt to comfort even though Jimmy doesn’t seem to need it. The furrow between Jimmy’s eyebrows melts away

He reaches again and this time, his hand connects.  He pauses when Thomas stiffens, trained in him after so long not to cross the boundary set years ago. But when he doesn’t move away, Jimmy seems to take that as permission. Skates his fingers up to Thomas’ shoulder.

Thomas swallows and watches his face, watches the way Jimmy’s pupils dilate as he traces the line of Thomas’ jaw, sees the faint pink dust his face and knows he is reading the signs correctly this time.

And when Jimmy steps closer and kisses him, he knows he’ll never be the same again.  

When Jimmy leaves, he won’t recover. The promises will evaporate with him. But Jimmy’s here now, and Thomas has nothing left to lose.

Desperate, he returns Jimmy’s kisses, cradles his face and kisses him roughly, years’ worth of pain and loneliness spilling out. And through his hands as he pulls at Jimmy’s clothes, pushing him onto the bed. Jimmy moans, his own hands scrabbling at Thomas’ buttons, and his trousers until they’re both still half-dressed and rutting gracelessly on the bed.  

So many times he’s imagined this. Never once like this, this messy, uncoordinated slide of their pricks. But he doesn’t care.  Like this, there’s no space to remember how much it hurt waiting through the months for Jimmy to answer his letters. To let him know that he was safe–that he was happy.

The years fade away, the hurt Jimmy caused unintentionally, the slights that were meant as well.  The scars Thomas wears don’t matter either.

None of it matters.  Only Jimmy’s hand as he kneads at Thomas’ ass, encouraging him to go faster, to give him more friction. Grunting, Thomas complies, their lips still locked as he chases the pleasure.  

Meets the edge with a groan, hips erratic, fingers tugging hard at Jimmy’s hair as Jimmy joins him, pleasure whiting out everything else.

But only for a moment. A fleeting moment, before the damp creeps in between their bodies, panic on its heels.  They were never meant to explore this boundary and Thomas hasn’t any idea what to say.  He’s startled at the sound of Jimmy’s breathless laughter.  

“Can’t believe I waited so long,” he says, his fingers running a circle over Thomas’ ass.  He smiles, bright and easy–every bit the man Thomas remembers so well. But just as quickly, it’s gone again, Jimmy’s eyes searching. “Thomas?” Hesitance now, fingers playing nervously against skin.

Thomas ignores the rush of unease making his throat tight. Tries to smile.

“Did I…” Jimmy begins, the question so awkward that Thomas cringes.

“No, no,” he says quickly. “It was lovely. Thank you.”

Thomas feels his cheeks warming at the foolish words, but amusement lights Jimmy’s eyes.  

“You’re welcome, then,” he says, teasing. “And thank you too. A very nice time, that was.”

Thomas smiles too, unable to help it. It would be simple, to stay like this, staring into Jimmy’s eyes. But the sticky damp is uncomfortable, and he suspects his weight will be as well.  He shifts away, reaches for the cloth he keeps on his dresser and offers it.

Allows Jimmy a moment to refasten and fix as he leaves the bed to do the same. Jimmy’s sitting up when he turns around, watching Thomas.

“Do you still mean to leave?” he asks, eyebrows high in question as he finishes the last buttons and gestures at the room with an elbow. The dilapidated room he was so generously given by Carson when his position became superfluous.

Thomas glances at his wrist, at the scars he’ll carry with him forever. Looks away when Jimmy’s gaze follows.  Gives into the urge to tug down the cuffs.  Jimmy watches his face again, but doesn’t comment.  

“I haven’t a choice,” Thomas tells him, keeping his voice light with an effort. "It’s only out of pity they’ve allowed me to stay this long.”

Thomas turns away to collect a new shirt.  He has several advertisements to answer. They shouldn’t linger much longer in the attics, although as Thomas is no longer a member of staff, no one is likely to notice or care.  

“Where will you go?” Jimmy asks, to Thomas’ back, while he takes off the wrinkled shirt and reaches for new.

 _To anyone who will have me_ , Thomas thinks.  Nowhere is more likely. He’s too old to start again. Not needed. Obsolete.

“I don’t know,” he says out loud as he slides an arm into one of its sleeves. He starts at Jimmy’s touch–gentle fingers between his shoulder blades.  He’s holding himself too still, but perhaps that’s why Jimmy’s palm is soothing down this back.  

“Miss Baxter says you want to stay in service,” Jimmy says quietly. “That you wanted to stay here.”  

“Miss Baxter,” Thomas parrots in faint mockery, “says too much.” He takes a step away, away from the disbelief he can detect. But Jimmy isn’t deterred.  He moves with him so they are facing one another.

“I have a better idea,” he says seriously.

“Have you?” The edge of mockery brightens, and Jimmy’s lips lift in genuine amusement.

“I have,” he says.  “The pub in London, where I work. It isn’t much—”  

“Jimmy,” Thomas stops him firmly as he straightens his collar. “I was an underbutler—”

“I know. Of course I do.” Jimmy brushes Thomas’ fingers away from the buttons on his shirt and fastens them nimbly.  Thomas is too surprised to stop him. “The owner needs a new man to be in charge,” he says quickly, the words tumbling together. “To train someone, and convince him to buy it in a few years because he wants to retire.”

“Jimmy…”

Jimmy frowns at him, and it makes Thomas’ words falter long enough for Jimmy to demand, “Well, why not? It’s respectable, isn’t it? You could do it. You’re about as clever as any man I know. And you know what you’re about with counting inventory and receipts and ordering staff about, don’t you?”

Thomas just stares at him, torn between disagreeing and basking in the unexpected praise.

Jimmy doesn’t give him a chance to do either. “You would be free, Thomas,” he says, a note of pleading in the words. “Don’t you see? Just like you always wanted. And I can fix it. He’s fond of me.” His cheeks glow red, and Thomas is fascinated, wants to ask him to elaborate, but Jimmy rushes on. “I’m not the only one. There are more like us. You could make it something. A pub for blokes like us, do you see?”

Such a simple word. _Us_. And yet it makes Thomas feel warm. He finds himself smiling. “Us, is it?” Hears himself saying, “Never thought I would hear you lump yourself in with a man like me.”

He wants to make Jimmy smile, but his words have the opposite effect. Jimmy looks away, cheeks dull red. And when he looks at Thomas again, Thomas knows it’s shame.  Jimmy’s throat ripples as he swallows.

“It was wrong to treat you the way I did,” he says, the words thick with regret.  

“Jimmy…”

“I ought to have tried to write more often.” He touches Thomas’ face, eyes bright, full of study for a moment before letting his hand drop. The hollow feeling in Thomas’ chest is unexpected.

“You did warn me,” his whisper sounds too loud in the quiet room.

Jimmy doesn’t say anything, not for a long time.  When he finally speaks, his voice shakes.  “I wanted to come back to see you. But I couldn’t, could I? Not if I couldn’t… I tried not to think about you but it never worked. But I didn’t know how to–” He makes an emphatic gesture, meaningless and yet Thomas understands perfectly. “It was always so easy for you, and it wasn’t, not for me…” His voice trails away and he looks as bereft as he did the day he left.

“It wasn’t always easy,” Thomas tells him. He doesn’t want to explain the therapy he tried, or the voices inside his head telling him he deserves each scar he’s been given.  

But Jimmy nods, understanding more than Thomas wants him to. “I’m sorry it took–” Another vague gesture, perfectly clear. “–to bring me back.”

Pity, it seems, is a powerful motivator when Thomas is concerned. “I’m better,” he repeats, no matter that saying so won’t make Jimmy stay. “Baxter needn’t have been worried for me.”

The sudden shift in Jimmy’s face from regret to anger is disconcerting. “She was right to be worried, Thomas. Don’t be daft. _I’m_ worried.”

“I told you, Jimmy,” Thomas says, touched at the force of his words, “I’m perfectly–”

“No, you’re not. Of course you’re not.” He lowers his voice, anger seeping through as he stresses, “You tried to kill yourself, Thomas. That isn’t right.”

The blunt words bring a flare of annoyance to Thomas’ chest. “Did I?” he drawls caustically, but Jimmy takes no notice.

“And then you say you want to stay here.  With the people who… who… they’re rubbish! You can’t stay here,” he finishes vehemently.  “Even if you don’t want to come with me, you can’t stay here.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to come with you,” Thomas says before he can stop himself. Jimmy’s brow crumples for a moment, but then he’s smiling, hopeful.

“Will you come?” he asks.  “I couldn’t be sure you would feel the same way… when you saved me that day. That you still felt like that.”

“If I still loved you, you mean?” The words come out drier than Thomas intends, and he regrets the flash of chagrin across Jimmy’s face.  “I do still love you,” he says quietly, expecting nothing in return.  

But he has an armful of Jimmy as soon as the words leave his mouth. And he’s being kissed, so ferociously that Thomas is left breathless. “I do as well,” Jimmy says, pulling back just a little. “Love you.” But the clarification isn’t necessary.  

Thomas can see it in his eyes, in the smile that lights his entire face. He doesn’t understand it, but it makes the hollow places feel less empty.  

Thomas’ arms tighten and he half expects Jimmy to realise the mistake and pull away.  He presses closer instead.  “I promise I won’t leave again,” Jimmy mumbles into his cheek. “Not if you want me to stay.”

Words are impossible, but Jimmy seems to understand.

Thomas can feel him smiling against his skin. “I told Mr Hunley–that’s the man who owns the pub–all about you.”

“Did you?” Thomas doesn’t loose his hold but Jimmy doesn’t seem to mind. It feels right to have Jimmy in his arms. Thomas wonders what it would feel like to stay like this forever. “You were so certain I would agree?”

“I thought I might be able to convince you,” Jimmy says as he pulls back just enough to see Thomas’ face. “I hoped you still loved me. Even though I had no right to–”

Thomas kisses him this time and with a soft hum, the regrets are silenced.

He’ll say his farewells to the family in the morning; before they leave for their holiday. A moment he has been dreading.  With Jimmy by his side, it no longer seems so daunting.


End file.
